


one step ahead, white to black

by juryrouge



Series: an unkindness [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Universe, Falbarry, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Vato Falman is Smart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juryrouge/pseuds/juryrouge
Summary: Falman's head had always been brimming with knowledge.
Relationships: Barry the Chopper/Vato Falman
Series: an unkindness [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582072
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	one step ahead, white to black

**Author's Note:**

> behold,,,, part four of an unkindness. shout out to all the falbarry stans out there- chop chop chop chop. and a special thank you to my beta, arianeige, for putting up with me and being so absolutely wonderful. haw yee
> 
> -jury

On paper, Vato Falman had an extraordinarily normal, boring childhood. He was an only child, born to two wonderful and respectable parents. He went to school with other kids his age, surrounded by stark white walls, and listened to teachers with perfectly average attitudes. He knew the rules and he followed them accordingly. Amestris was officially founded around 1550, and though the country existed prior to that date, it was without any form of government or organization.

He didn’t quite know when he realized it, but Falman wasn’t the most normal child. His peers would rattle on about things Falman couldn’t relate to, and his elders would teach him things he already understood. The other kids in class would talk about crushes and games and topics Falman couldn’t quite wrap his head around. 

“Do you wanna play the alchemy game with us?” Someone would ask him for the last time.

Xerxes was an ancient country that existed in the Great Desert to the east of Amestris over four hundred years ago -- it mysteriously disappeared overnight. “Play?” Falman said, tilting his head. “Alchemy is a science, not a game. It’s the science of understanding, deconstructing, and-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the other boy cut him off, waving his hand. “We’re just playing it as a game. You know, _having fun._ ”

Amestris was a unitary state under the rule of a parliamentary republic. 

Falman nodded slowly. “What are the rules?” The Briggs Mountain Range separated Amestris and the large country to the north, Drachma; their relations were ruled by risk and tensions.

“There aren’t rules! Just- never mind.” The boy shrugged and walked back to his group of friends. They chattered about something, their boisterous laughter filling the air. The summer sun was blindingly bright. The official flag of Amestris was a rectangle, with an argent dragon rampant in a field of vert. 

“Oh.”

Falman grew up being praised and showered with attention. Teachers would coo over how intelligent he was, how quick he was to pick things up, how amazing his memory was. They’d offer him wide smiles, their teeth white and shining. Creta was a Federal-State composed of several nations reunited under a Union, its decentralization leading to many conflicts and problems over the years. And it gave Falman’s classmates more food for fodder. 

“He’s like a walking encyclopedia.” Falman heard one of his teachers say during their break. The door was ajar and he was hidden from their view, straining to listen to their conversation. “And his memory, it’s unnatural.”

“It makes me uncomfortable simply being around him,” another teacher said. “It’s almost insulting to talk to the boy.”

“What’s the point of bothering to teach him? He’s just going to show off anyway.”

Falman’s brain remembered every word. The people of Xing practice alkahestry, an alternative form of alchemy. 

When Falman was older, he entered the military and was later handpicked by Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, to become a part of his team. He became their resident intelligence expert, an integral part of their unit: the bishop. Falman didn’t join the military with any great dreams or goals, but he found one in Team Mustang. And Mustang’s ambitions became his own. 

In 1901, the Ishval Civil War started when an Amestrian soldier accidentally shot and killed an Ishvalan child.

In Mustang’s Unit, Falman finally felt like he was a part of something -- a family. Falman had never had such close bonds with anyone before. The gray office of East Area Headquarters became his home. Havoc and Breda would tease him about his lack of actual combat experience. Hawkeye and Fuery would fondly tell him that he didn’t need to be so overly formal. Mustang would order him to lighten up. The capital of Amestris was Central City.

“Considering the height of that stack of papers, it’ll take you approximately three and a half hours to get through it,” Falman advised, glancing over at his superior who was twiddling with his pen.

Mustang let out a lazy sigh. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

A pause. In July of 1558, Amestris first declared war with the nation west of the country by invading the city of Riviere, resulting in the first bloody battle of Amestris’ known history. Hawkeye cocked her gun.

There came a day where Falman’s lack of combat experience caught up with him. Mustang and Hawkeye summoned him to interrogate Number 66, a soul trapped in a suit of armor, about the legendary Chopper case. And the next thing Falman knew, he was living with the man. 

Over the course of several terrifying years, Barry the Chopper had killed twenty three people. 

“Eh, you’ll be fine,” Havoc said, taking a blow of his cigarette; he smelled like an ashtray, the scent sticking to his clothes as smoke wafted through the air. Amestris was a landlocked country with a vast and diverse geography. “I can come visit if ya want- check in on ya both.”

“Did Mustang tell you how long I have to stay here?” Falman asked, hoping Barry didn’t notice his cautious glance. The population of Amestris was roughly fifty million people. 

Havoc gave him a half-shrug. “Nope.”

Falman looked around the cramped safe house he would be staying in, trying to hide his wary frown. “What am I supposed to do all day?”

“I dunno, read a book or something,” Havoc responded casually, patting Falman on the shoulder. “Is there a book you haven’t read?” The people of Xerxes were described as having golden hair and eyes. 

Barry cackled. 

After some idle conversation, Havoc left -- leaving Falman alone with a mass murderer. 

Amestris was well known for the technological advancements, making-

“Oh, Vato,” Barry sang, “wanna play another game of chess?”

It took Falman a moment to catch his train of thought. “Don’t say my name like that. And sure, fine.”

“So you’re actually giving me permission to use your first name?” Barry giggled as he incorrectly arranged the pieces on the chessboard. 

“No, I am not.” Amestris’ relations with Creta were-

“ _Vato. Vato. Vato. Vato._ ” 

Falman groaned. “Please, stop that.”

Barry picked up the black bishop, twirling it between his metal fingers. He looked at Falman when he placed it in the center of the last row -- the king’s position. “Y’know, the bishop is my favorite chess piece,” he said, humming a soft tune that rattled through his armor. Cenz were Amestris’ currency.

Falman’s breath caught in his throat. “The bishop doesn’t belong there. Those aren’t the rules.”

His companion cackled again. “Then we can make our own!”

And their days alone together had passed like this.

When the moon had risen well into the ink-black sky and Falman’s eyes felt heavy with sleep, and Barry sat beside him with an odd air of patience -- he would talk to him about music. His voice was detached, but filled with such a reverence, it made Falman’s heart stutter in his chest; his eyes glowed so, so brightly, alighting the room with red. Amestris had been at war far longer than it had ever been at peace. 

Barry would tell him of melodies that played in his head, anthems that swirled through his mind, and refrains that echoed in his soul. They would whisper to him -- sweet things -- and murmur secrets better left untold. When Barry spoke, it sounded beautiful. Falman wondered, yearned to, know what his music was like to hear. 

But also knowing Barry, it was better that he didn’t.

Even so, Falman wanted to experience something like that, hear something that could make his heart stir.

As Falman drifted asleep, content as he huddled deep within his blankets, the melody of Barry sharpening his cleaver the closest sound he had to a lullaby, he found solace in the darkness. The richness of the soothing midnight canvas. The comfort of slowly drifting shadows. The warmth of black. 

Falman’s mind was silent.

**Author's Note:**

> can y'all believe we're only halfway through this series lmao? anywho, any comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc are greatly appreciated!! thank you all so much for reading.
> 
> also,
> 
> another thank you to arianeige and idiotwerewolf for indulging in my pspspspsps!barry x vsco!falman headcanons.
> 
> falman: _sksksksksksk spill the tea sis oop-_  
>  barry: pspspsps cmere and lemme tell you about my murders, honey
> 
> -jury


End file.
